


Mustn't Touch

by Berettasalts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berettasalts/pseuds/Berettasalts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brianna just wanted to have herself a beer and pick up a hot guy for some gratuitous unsafe sex. She didn't count on having an incestuous homosexual relationship flaunted in her face.</p><p>Or, don't be a judgemental prick when you're the one committing adultery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mustn't Touch

**Author's Note:**

> So, Brianna is basically the voice of every 'Incest is disgusting' argument ever. Written in mid-2013.

Bree had been watching them for the better part of an hour. They were out-of-towners for sure, because they clearly didn’t know how things were done in Wasota County. This wasn’t San Francisco, for heaven's sake, people had some self-respect in this part of Minnesota. Frank’s was a good, respectable bar that the locals came to for beer, sports, and good food, not Public Displays of Affection.

 

It was sickening, the way they were going at it. She and Garrett never indulged in that type of shit together - though to be fair, she and Garrett rarely indulged in anything that wasn’t the occasional fancy meal together, or a business dinner or family barbeque to keep up appearances. They had no children, so if they wanted to carry on a loveless, convenient marriage while having affairs with his secretary and her personal trainer? Bree was quite happy to pretend she believed that his business trips weren’t vacations to the Bahamas as long as he kept bringing home paycheques, and it wasn’t anyone’s damn business but theirs, thank you very much.

 

"You want pie? I think they have Southern Pecan here." The big one - 'Sammy,' she had deduced, from what the other one called him - was insisting. His big hands, which Bree admitted seemed very talented, given the sure dexterity with which they kneaded the other one's shoulders, and the occasional contented sounds the other would make, kept touching him with such affection and reverence it was nauseating. It was obvious, to anyone with eyes, that they were an item and had been for a very long time. 'Sammy' had his foot wedged up against 'Dean's' left leg and was practically sitting in his lap, facing slightly towards him and leaning in close so that the other seemed to gravitate towards him. She hadn't seen any kissing, yet, but the arm slung across 'Dean's' shoulders and the absolute negative space between them told her all she needed to know. It was _revolting_. Sickening. Two men in any kind of romantic relationship was unconstitutional, immoral, and _wrong,_ and she didn’t give a damn what the Democrats had to say about it. This country really was going to the dogs.

 

It didn’t help her mood that she had been watching ‘Dean’ for the better part of an hour before ‘Sammy’ the Sasquatch had barged right into Franks, looked around, and beelined right for his table like a dog sniffing out it’s master. Greg, her personal trainer, was out of town for the weekend, and hell, she was lonely. What? Leather-jacket was pretty, with green eyes, a criminally gorgeous mouth, and a body that she itched to get her hands on. Bree was sure she could bag this one, no problem. She never lost when it came to guys. She felt sure and confident when she let down her hair, popped the top button on her shirt and slunk with purpose over to the dim, backlit booth he sat in alone. She used the time to decide on a good pick-up line from her stock of material, when he spoke without so much as looking directly at her.

 

“You got about thirty seconds, Sweetheart. Better make it count.”

 

She sputtered and scrambled for a reply, and twelve seconds early, ‘Sammy’ had stormed in and rained on her parade.

 

The look they exchanged said it all.

 

‘Dean’ chuckled hollowly, shrugging off Sammy’s hand as it came up to touch his hair. “Don’t need a babysitter, Sammy. If I want pie, I’ll order pie.” He frowned. “Damnit, now I want pie.” He raised a hand and flagged down the waitress, Hannah, who did not seem nearly as offended by their grabbing at each other as she ought to have been.

 

“Dean.” That was the only word _Sammy_ seemed capable of saying, though he managed to communicate whatever he was saying just fine. This was a gentle admonishment, rife with affection. “I thought I’d lost you today. Let me have this.”

 

“If you think buying me pie earns you something ridiculous like radio privileges, think again,” said the other smartly, taking a lazy swallow from his beer. He shifted in his seat and batted the other man away when he leaned in, nuzzled his nose into the side of his face. “Dude, stop hanging on me. We’re in a public place.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Bree muttered to herself. She thought she kept her voice low. Really, she did. As one, they both turned heads in her direction.

 

In spite of herself, Bree felt her face turn red. She hadn’t really meant them to hear her, but then again, maybe she had. These goddamn... gays thought they had run of the country, and it was about time someone stood up and showed some morals. Keeping her dignity, Bree straightened and very conspicuously rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

 

There was no response from either, and when she looked again, they were bent closer in quiet conversation. This actually piqued her even more than the complete brush-off she’d received from the first one, Dean (though she could understand why now, which soothed her ego). How _dare_ they ignore her? Bree was a confident, beautiful woman, damnit, and there was not a thing wrong with her. There was no reason these two should be that cozy together, while she sat here drinking alone. No reason at all.

 

Bree spent several minutes checking out other patrons in the bar, the problem being most of them she had already fucked and Wasota didn’t get a lot of people passing through. Damnit, maybe she should take a page out of Garrett’s book and see if Greg was interested in any kind of permanent arrangement. She doubted he would be, but it sucked being alone.

 

The shift of leather next to her brought her attention to the table with the two boys again. Not because they were being particularly loud, but they gave off a _vibe_ , and when Bree dared to look again, the taller of the two had draped his knee across the other’s lap (their pie sat forgotten on the table) - and they were _kissing_ like their lives depended on it.

 

Bree made a sound of disgust that she couldn’t avoid, her chair scraping across the lino as she stood up quickly, tasting bile. The faggots didn’t even notice, they were oblivious to the world.

 

 

“Excuse me,” Bree said hotly, with a flare of righteous anger too deep to keep inside. “Think you two could save it for the motel room?”

 

Her voice carried enough that a couple of patrons turned to look, and the boys finally broke apart. The tall one blinked at her, all innocent and doe-eyed. The second one seemed almost amused, and wiggled his brows at her suggestively.

 

“Little jealous, are we, Princess?” he teased, a hand going around the other man’s waist to keep him from moving away. He did let Sam shift in her direction, but his fingers gently brushed the man’s mop of unruly hair aside, and he placed a deliberate kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Bet you wouldn’t be complaining if it was you in my lap. You were pretty eager for it about fifteen minutes ago.”

 

From the table a few seats down, Roger Hammond, the traitorous fucker, chuckled deeply. “Hey, Brianna, if you’re looking for a lap to ride, you can come sit on mine again.” That brought laughter from the two other men at his table - one of which she had _not,_ in fact, slept with at all.

 

Though the other one, Sam, didn’t say a word, the look he flashed her was venomous and possessive, a clear _hands off_ if she had ever seen one, and almost enough to make her back down if Bree wasn’t so insulted. She started to sputter a denial, which made him grin wider, flashing a row of perfect white teeth.

 

“Usually he doesn’t get this grabsy in public,” Dean continued, with a self-satisfied smirk that belonged on a pornstar, not in the middle of a small-town bar. “But he’s real responsive when you get him going in bed, my Sammy. He shivers, moans, makes all kinds of little noises for me. I’m sure you’d really love to get a taste of him, too.” He gently kissed the hollow of his throat, and obediently, Sammy broke out in a full-body shiver, eyes half-closed in an expression of pure bliss.

 

 _That’s absolutely gross_ , she wanted to shout at them both, but something stopped her. Sam opened his eyes and looked directly at her, licking his lips. Bree suddenly realized that Sam, and probably Dean too, weren’t actually batting strictly for their own team. She got looks of appreciation from men all the time, and she knew one when she saw one. A light went on in her head, and Bree had to sit down again, her heart suddenly hammering. Were both of these men actually inviting her into a _three_ way? She had never had one before, but... hot damn, she couldn’t say it had never occurred to her, and with a girl sandwiched between them, two men as delicious as these ones in bed together suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

 

Dean’s hand drifted down over Sam’s thighs, which spread obediently without having to be told. Dean must have whispered something truly naughty into his ear, because Sam tilted his head back slightly and moaned. From the angle, Bree couldn’t actually see what Dean’s hand was doing, but she had a pretty good idea, and damn, if it didn’t get her throbbing with a sympathetic ache of anticipation.

 

“See, thing about Sammy here,” Dean said, leaning over his shoulder and tilting his chin towards her using one hand, “is that he’s got perfect, cocksucking lips, this one, and no matter how much practice you get in, I _promise_ you’ll never be as good as he is.”

 

It took Bree a full several seconds to realize she had been insulted. God help her, her head was filled with images of the two of them - that shorter, stockier one was the far more aggressive of the two in bed, she was sure of it - on either side of her, Sam below, moving those narrow hips just like he was doing now, with slow, gentle slides while he kissed the back of her neck, and Dean, Dean between her legs, putting that _mouth_ of his to full use until she was wet, wet and dripping and ready for him; then he would crawl naked up her body and -

 

High-pitched laughter from Sam brought her out of her daydream like a cold splash of water to the face. She opened her mouth and sputtered like a gaping fish, but he only laughed harder. They pulled apart and Bree had never felt more humiliated as they both doubled over the table, howling with laughter.

 

“You two are disgusting pigs!” she snapped, hands clenching in an effort to keep them away from her face, which was flaming. “Like I need a _visual_ of what you and your _boyfriend_ do together in bed. _Eww._ Would you even know what to do with a woman if you had one?” she mocked.

 

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Sam shot back, practically bursting with satisfaction. “He’s my brother.”

 

At first, she thought they were joking again. They had to be. Gays were one thing, but what kind of sick man fucked his brother? That was... unfathomable. Immoral. _Illegal._ “You’re serious,” she realized, and her skin crawled. She’d actually been imagining... _oh, God_. “That’s illegal, you sick fucks.”

 

“Excuse me,” Sam said, sitting up. “According to Constitutional law incestuous relationships, defined as two persons too closely related to marry, have been revoked recently in three states and are only actively enforced in thirty-seven. Moreover, criminal charges are usually revoked if the participating parties are consenting adults and my brother and I are well over the age of consent, completely ignoring the impossibility of sex between any two men resulting in genetically mutated offspring. That’s also not taking into account the many countries in the world in which incest is legal, as the social taboo it carries in America does not apply to all cultures of the world. The fact actually is that while many of the archaic laws forbidding incestuous relationships still exist, most are never actually enforced because the state has simply not been able to find any realistic or logical reason to keep two consenting adults from having sex. Maybe, before making judgements, you should get your facts straight.”

 

“ _Bam!_ Lawyered,” Dean exulted. “High five, my brother.”

 

“I don’t - I don’t - “

 

“You don’t, you don’t,” Sam mocked her, a little cruelly, and she could tell from his narrowed eyes, which had been laughing a moment ago, that he was really and truly angry. “You don’t whore yourself out to strangers? Is _that_ sanctity?” His eyes dropped accusingly to her left hand. Bree hid it behind her. “You don’t even realize what a hypocrite you are, do you? You think that taking out your self-loathing on strangers over something that is none of your fucking business whatsoever, will make you feel better about yourself?”

 

“Least I don’t fuck my own brother!” she hissed.

 

“You should give it a try. Hottest sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

 

“Aww, Sammy, your praise gets me all tingly. I’m blushing.”

 

“Then again,” Sam went on, mouth curving and eyes gleaming, “your brother’s not Dean. He really does have a pretty mouth, doesn’t he?”

 

Bree was a clever, sassy woman, and she had out-bitched many other women in her life.

 

And this gigantic fucker had out-bitched her.

 

“You assholes,” she blustered, wringing her hands into fists. “I hope you realize you’re going to rot in Hell, you sick-minded pieces of shit.”

 

“Already been!” Dean called over his shoulder. He and Sam had left money on the table and taken the pie to go, their arms around each other and shaking with laughter. There were few patrons left in the bar, and a couple of them, including Roger and his buddies, were laughing too. Bree looked around and realized, miserably, that she wasn’t going to win tonight. She had already slept with and ditched at least three of the men who remained, and there was a woman in the corner - Jenna Black, she saw with a sinking feeling - whose husband was among them. Ex-husband, thanks to Brianna.

 

It was time to go.

 

Bree stopped next to the curb and leaned back against the brick wall, no longer warm from the day’s heat. Stars twinkled overhead, more than you would ever see in the city. The streets were empty, shops were closing down for the day and the only lights to be seen were the neon sign advertising the family diner, an ATM building, and Frank’s bar. There was a sweet black muscle car parked nearby, and Bree edged around the corner for a moment to collect herself.

 

Brothers. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, as much as it turned her stomach. How unfair was it that they should be so happy? They’d left together, laughing, and anyone who looked at them could see that they were madly in love. _Brothers._ She had always thought of incest and molestation as interchangeable terms, something awful that happened to children when they were little. It didn’t happen between two gorgeous adult men, who were so hopelessly and completely wrapped up in each other that they couldn’t even see how horribly wrong it was (and how criminal it was for them to be _monogamous_ , for crying out loud). And that she, a good young lady who had married a fine man, _upholding_ the sanctity of marriage and family, the values America was defined on, was alone.

 

“Oh, _yeah,_ ” came a low groan from the vicinity of the muscle car. Looking up, she saw that one of the windows was cracked. It was dark enough that she couldn’t see inside. “Just like that, Sammy. You really are the best little cocksucker on the planet.”

 

 _Son of a bitch_ , she thought, and scrabbled to get to her feet, not wanting to be anywhere near that car.

 

“Think you can take three fingers for me, Dean?” The words were preceded by an obscene wet pop and messy, slurping sounds, and... and damn, it provided Bree with a very clear mental image of just want was going on between those two men in the car. For one wild moment, she wondered if they actually knew she was out there, and were being deliberately noisy because of it. Hell, she’d once done that to get back at an ex-boyfriend by hooking up with someone outside that strip joint in Nevada.

 

An unwanted tingle crept between her legs. _Normal reaction_ , she told herself vehemently. _Not because they’re brothers. That’s sick. Wrong. Disgusting._

 

She heard bodily shifting and the supple slide of leather, caught the shadow of a body moving in the car’s backseat - an old model Impala, she noted. “Dean,” came Sam’s voice again, and it carried with it fire and longing and passion that Bree had never believed could exist outside of romance novels.

 

They weren’t putting on a show, she thought with certainty. Those two men had eyes for no one but each other, and the outside world may well not even have existed. They had probably forgotten all about her.

 

 _Oh, god, I am not turned on by this_ , Bree thought, nauseated.

 

She wasn’t, not really (and if she was it had been almost a week since she’d gotten any, jeez), but she was jealous of the weight behind that one, simple name. True love, adoration, devotion - all things that couldn’t be found in cheap, meaningless sex, leaving her empty and raw and searching for something else to fill the void, because nothing ever did.

 

 _I... I want what they have_. God help her, she was actually jealous of an incestuous, homosexual relationship.

  
Brianna returned home to an empty house and, first thing in the morning, called her lawyer and filed for divorce.


End file.
